


Marya: a short story

by takemetoyourglory



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Memories, brain stuff, implied suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takemetoyourglory/pseuds/takemetoyourglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this story for my Cognitive Science Fiction class. I'm posting this to AO3 even though it's not fanfiction, because it's an easy viewing place. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Marya: a short story

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story for my Cognitive Science Fiction class. I'm posting this to AO3 even though it's not fanfiction, because it's an easy viewing place. Enjoy!

To whom it may concern:  
Prisoner 9823.  
Marya Valdonich. High ranking RA official.  
Caught relaying messages to the rebel alliance. 03:00.  
New course of action requested: Tenn Method.  
  
This information is highly valued and necessary in order to crush the rebel alliance. Respond promptly with results.  
  
M. Savange

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

You enter the room, holding your commander’s message. The girl he spoke about, Marya, is in a chair, bound and gagged. Her wrists are flushed from struggling against the cuffs and her eyes are blurry. You cross the room, loom over her, study her. _Typical alliance,_ you think. _Like we wouldn’t discover her. We know, well, everything._ A grin spreads across your lips. You’ve done this a million times, bitten and burned prisoners with only words, until they spill their secrets. And if that doesn’t work, well, you’re fairly skilled at physically extracting the information as well. This time it’s different though. Marya isn’t just any spy, and the information she possesses isn’t just the location of the rebels; it’s the names, the birthdates, and the family members –even the hair colors. She knows every miniscule detail, and she’s not going to give any of it up easily. That’s where you come in.  
  
The Tenn method, that’s what Savange had requested you use to acquire the information. It is supposed to be painless, quick, easy, and much…cleaner than past interrogation methods. The machine sits in the other corner, wires snaking out from underneath the large metal shaft. _This is it,_ you think. You’ll finally be recognized for your talents; you’ll finally be called up to the High Order. All you have to do is break the girl, get inside her mind, and retrieve the information. You’ll be the first to use the method. _Successfully_ , you remind yourself.  It’s dangerous, you know. But you’re strong enough. You want this.

 

You ungag the girl; give her a chance to tell you what she knows. It is procedure after all. She coughs and sputters. Blood is caked around her lips, the gag stained as well. She lets out a shriek before you cover her mouth with your palm. She tries to bite you but you hold her tight. “This is your only chance,” you snarl, releasing your hand slightly.

 

She spits on you. You reel back and smack her hard, leaving a bright mark across her skin. You’ve worked too long and too hard to be treated like this by a little girl. _Fuck this,_ you think. _Fuck the procedure._ You gag her again, this time so tightly that the cloth is digging into her cheeks; when you’re finished your hands are damp with her tears.

 

You walk over to the machine in the corner pick up the instructions. After skimming them, you take hold of the first headpiece. Careful not to tangle the wires and the rectangular module, you head back over to the girl and slide the three prongs through her hair, then attach the tips to each other. Her eyes are wide in shock and she struggles against you, but the ropes hold tight and all she succeeds in doing is chaffing her wrists even more. The little black rectangle resting against her forehead now blinks to life, and her eyelids start to droop. As her eyes roll back all you can see is the whites, and then she’s gone, as her breathing evens out and her muscles relax.

 

Your turn now, and you slide the prongs through your own hair, careful not to touch them together quite yet. You situate yourself in a chair, comfortable. This is new, and you want to be careful. The machine in the corner is now whirring, making a faint humming sound. It lulls you, relaxes you, and now that you’re sitting, you touch the prongs together. The room gets soft, your vision blurs, and everything feels warm. Your eyelids feel heavy, so heavy.

 

~~~

 

You open your eyes. You’re lying on a shag carpet, looking up at a white ceiling. The walls are a dingy coral, and the light above you is burnt out. Sunlight is coming through broken blinds. It’s probably around dusk; the sun will be setting soon. You sit up. You feel small in the empty room. The only furniture is a little brown desk, a day bed, and a small wooden crib leaning against the wall. You’re alone. You don’t know what year it is, but from the looks of it, it’s before the Federation gained power, back when chaos ruled and the government couldn’t take care of its own people. Civil war, the bloodiest anyone could remember. Almost no one was spared. You know your history lessons, you were top in your class. This house is definitely pre-war.

 

There are sounds coming from another room now, through the closed door. You remember why you’re here. _This is a memory_ , you remind yourself, but it feels so real. You can feel the cool breeze coming through the window, the carpet against your hands, the stale smell of mildew. You listen closer; it’s clear now that there’s a woman, talking in hushed tones, and children, shrieking with laughter. You hike yourself up and walk towards the door. You’re wary; there is no precedent for you to go off of, no manual, but you know you can handle this. You have one goal, to get the information, and you know that you need to find an object, something small and compact that can be shut tightly. It will probably be in Marya’s possession. You need to find it, obtain it, and gain the information without damaging the memories. That’s the important part. As far as you know, they won’t see you or hear you, but they can feel you and your presence, they can see if objects move. And it’s their prerogative to protect Marya, to protect her mind.

 

You slip your hand over the doorknob and ease it open to reveal a small, dimly lit kitchen. A woman sits in the corner, hand threaded through her greying hair. She’s probably in her mid-forties and although she looks exhausted, you can clearly see laughter lines. Right now though, she is completely focused on whispering things into the phone and jotting down the answers as she receives them.  Two little girls are sitting under the table, playing with a ragged-looking stuffed bear. They’re giggling, obviously having fun. The older of the two pulls the bear away from the younger girl, who then lets out a shriek and starts to tear up. The woman sighs and sets the phone down, before pulling both girls out from under the table.

 

“Marya, what did you do? Oh Vasha, honey, please stay quiet. Momma is trying to talk to someone alright?”

 

The older one must be Marya than. You look her over. She’s probably about five or six, small for her age. Her dark hair is pulled out of her face with a blue ribbon. It’s clear that her clothing is worn, probably hand-me-downs. You can’t see anything that could be the object you’re looking for.

 

The mother pulls out some crayons and paper from a drawer for the children and sits down. She looks worried; her eyebrows are arched together in concentration, like she’s waiting for something. She’s on edge too, but that could be the stress of having two hyperactive children.

 

 _This memory is so… mundane_ , you think, _there’s no purpose_. You continue to observe. You’re looking for something small, something portable and it’s nowhere to be found. It’s getting late now, the sun is setting. You see the mother get up from where she’s sitting to wander into the other room. She brings back a small package and sets it on the counter.

 

“Marya, cover your eyes,” She instructs. She reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out a round cake, small, but dusted in powered sugar. _It’s wartime, how could she get the materials to make that_ , you think, but then you remind yourself that this is Marya’s family. Marya, a rebel commander. And from what you know, she wasn’t the first Valdonich to be involved.

 

The mother sticks a single candle into the cake, pulls out a nearly empty book of matches, and lights the candle. Marya still has her hands over her eyes and peeks out through her fingers. Her sister is sitting in a highchair, reaching out towards the lit candle.

 

The woman bends down and kissed the top of Marya’s head, “Happy birthday _myshka_ ,” she whispers, “I have a present for you.” She slides the box towards Marya, who grabs it with waiting hands.

 

“Mamma I am not a mouse!” She giggles. The mother reaches down again and kissed her crinkled nose.  
  
“No, you are my little mouse!” They’re all laughing now, as Marya tears open the box. You can’t see what’s in it yet, but now you’re interested. She pulls out a chain. At the end is a little silver locket, glinting in the fading light. You snap back into focus, the distractions melting away. _That’s it,_ you think. There’s no way to grab it though, now that she has pulled it over her head. It sits on her neck, calling to you, and you know that you need to follow it until you have a chance to take it, open it up, receive the information.  

 

Just then, the phone rings. You’re still staring, entranced, at the locket, but in the corner of your eye you see the mother’s face fall as she listens to the call, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. She crumples to the floor, dropping the plate she had been holding on the way down. It shatters. Marya jumps up, “Mamma!” She cries and runs towards her mother.  
  
“Go Marya, go to the back room with Vasha.” She cries, “Hide under the bed until I come and get you.” She kisses the girl’s forehead and pushes her towards her sister. Just then a loud knocking sounds against the front door. Marya runs, grabs Vasha, and slips out the door that you had come in through. You follow her. All you can think about is that locket, the silver flashing in your eyes, and you run through the door behind her, leaving the room just as men in thick metal armor break down the front door. You glance back for a second and see the mother, still crumpled on the ground, now muttering something unintelligible. You shut the door behind you and turn around.

 

~~~

You’re standing on a porch. It’s mid-morning. You glance around. Marya is nowhere to be found and all you can think about is getting that locket. You were so very close, goddammit. At least this time, you know what you’re looking for.

 

A blond boy sits down next to you on the porch. He’s probably around eighteen, barely a man, faint stubble evident. He’s on edge and his hands are shaking. In one, he holds a letter. It has writing in script on the back and a broken wax stamp that kept the envelope sealed. A conscription letter, most likely.

 

(You got one yourself when you were around his age, the best, the brightest, the most elite called away from everything to serve the country.)

It must be wartime then.

 

You don’t quite understand the purpose of all this. You’re travelling through Marya’s head, her memories, that makes sense. But what is the point? _It’s a chase,_ you suppose. _It’s her mind’s protection_. She is leading you through a labyrinth and it will never end until you get that locket. You’ll be trapped here. You push out thoughts of decaying bodies, left for days. You need to get out of here before either of your physical bodies fail.

 

You know she’ll show up here — it is her memory after all. You’re correct; Marya saunters over after only a few minutes and sits down a step below you. She’s looking right at you, and even though you know she can’t see you, it’s unnerving. She looks much closer to her present age; this memory is only four or five years old then, probably only a few weeks before the end of the war. You look her over again. She’s wearing the locket, but it’s tucked into her blouse. You want to grab it. You know you could, it’s less than a foot away, hanging around her neck. You start to reach out, consequences be damned, when she jerks away and stands up. The boy stands up with her and grabs her by the crook of her elbow.

 

“Marya,” he starts, “It doesn’t have to be this way. I don’t have to go. I don’t have to fight. We can go away, just the two of us; we can go south and find your cousin Jerome and his family and we can make a new life.” He’s staring intently now, his eyes pleading, “Please Marya, I don’t have to do this.” He is tearing up now and Marya turns back around and pulls him close.  
  
“No, you do have to do this Alexi. You must. If you stay here any longer, you’ll be in even more danger. It’s better for you to go, to fight for us. If you stay, you’ll be killed in your sleep, or worse. They know what we’ve done and they won’t forget us. Please, just go.” With that she kisses him on the cheek and unwraps his hand from her arm. She’s crying now, looking at Alexi as if she wishes she could just forget the whole thing, forget the war, forget the alliance.

 

 _It doesn’t matter,_ you remind yourself, _these people are traitors. They’re going against us, it’s because of them that the rebels are still functioning at all._ You focus on your mission, the necklace, the information. Everything else is just details, it’s not even real. The boy, the mother, the sister, they don’t matter to you, they’re just obstacles. You need that locket. You want this information. You want to be successful, you need to be successful, and at this point it’s not even about getting out safely. Savange is depending on you. Everyone is depending on you. And you swear to yourself, you will be the first to do this. Think of the prestige! Think of the honor! You’re doing your country a duty. You were born for this.

 

Your thoughts are interrupted by the slamming door and Alexi, walking within inches of you, tears running down his face. Marya is gone, and you run up the steps, nearly tripping over yourself. You pull open a door for the second time, not sure what to expect.

 

~~~

 

Whatever you had pictured as the next memory is quickly wiped away as you take in your surroundings.

 

You smell it first; salty and strong. The air is heavy and thick and it feels like the sun is going to burn a hole through your skin. You look around. You’re out on open water, a lake, in a small rowboat. Just you and Marya and Vasha but they’re both young again. This time Marya is ten or eleven; Vasha is maybe six. You can hardly see the shore. It’s blurry on the horizon. The two girls are shoving each other, fighting over an oar. You see it happen before they realize what’s going on, but the only thing that’s clear in your head is the silver bit dangling from Marya’s neck. You reach out to her, trying to stabilize her. You don’t even know if it’ll work but you do it on an impulse anyways. You’re too late though, and both girls topple into the water and you hear Marya cry out. You jump in after them, after the locket.

 

Everything is blue and green and murky and you try to focus on the two girls and the littler one is sinking quickly but all you can think about is that locket. You see Marya try to grab her sister, try to pull her up, but she’s not strong enough, and now Vasha is lying on the bed of the lake, unmoving. Marya is thrashing around you, still trying to reach her sister. She’s quickly running out of breath and doesn’t know what to do, so she tries to float back to the surface but you reach out and yank the locket from her neck and a burst of air rises as bubbles as she lets out a shriek. The sound pierces your ears, amplified a million times by the water surrounding you all. It’s loud, so loud, and the water around you is churning. It doesn’t feel like you’re in a lake anymore, more like a tsunami, rising up and up and up. You’re holding the locket in your hand and grip the little metal tab holding it shut.

 

You pull it open and suddenly, you know.

You know everything. You know that the presiding officer of the rebel alliance has red hair and is named Dominic Hess and you know that they’re planning an attack on federal offices in two weeks and you know where every rebel is stationed and you know that Marya was supposed to be bringing supplies to them and you know that her father, mother, and sister are all dead and you know that Alexi was her first kiss and you know that the derivative of sine is cosine and you know that a giraffe’s tongue is twenty inches long and you know that if you follow the north star for long enough you can get home and _you know_ _everything and it hurts._ Facts and thoughts and opinions and ideas and everything that she has ever learned are all flowing through your mind and still all you can hear is shrieking. Marya’s shrieking. It’s piercing your ears, causing your vision to blur.

 

The water is fading around you from blue to white to grey. You feel dry again and you can breathe. You look around to see a room, the room you were first in, and you rip the headpiece out of your hair. You can still hear the screaming, cutting into you like knives across your skin. It won’t stop. You look over at Marya, headpiece still on, eyes glazed over and head hanging limp. _She’s dead_ , you think, _but it doesn’t matter because we have the information._  

 

You have the information. You know everything. And you’ll be the one praised for this glorious success because you’re the one who successfully used the Tenn method and went inside a woman’s brain and survived and—

 

Your thoughts grow blurry again. You make your way over to the machine, struggling through the pain that’s inching it’s way into your skull. You pull the plug, try to make it stop. She’s dead, this shouldn’t be happening. But in your thoughts, you can hear hers too, her old memories.

 

“…..I’m not a little mouse.”  
  
“…,you do have to do this Alexi. You must.”  
  
“…Vasha!”

 

It doesn’t stop, no matter what you do. The pain increases. Your vision is turning white, your hands shaking. The shrieking continues, over and over, like a soundtrack, in the back of your mind, and it’s cutting off your own thoughts. All you can picture is the rest of your life like this, the rest of your life with Marya in the back of your mind and it’s too much. You can’t think about the honor, the prestige of succeeding. The glory of delivering the information to your superiors. This has to end right now, you can’t take it anymore, it’s too much. You feel something running down your cheek from your right ear—blood—and you smear it away. You reach into your pocket, feel for what you know is there.

 

You pull out your gun and lay it on the table in front of you. It’s already loaded, a precaution, just in case something had gone wrong during the interrogation. You squint your eyes tight, trying to rid the sound, the feeling, the sensory overload one last time. It doesn’t work. You breathe in deeply and weigh the gun in your hands again, before positioning it towards yourself, towards Marya, towards the shrieks that are tearing through your mind.

 

You pull the trigger.

 


End file.
